


agostina

by boldly (techburst)



Series: that's it! ( i've come up with a new bit of nonsense ) [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Introspection, he's so in love it's stupid, superfluous appreciation of the blond thing's freckles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9975521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/techburst/pseuds/boldly
Summary: prompt: "give me introspection at watching prompto sleep where gladio is up an hour before him. how about a challenge to keep it under 400 words."( it ended up being 488. :| )celestial ocean, choice and chancesfuture love and lightinfinity has many facesi see them all tonight( puscifer, "agostina" )





	

**Author's Note:**

> credit goes to jay for this one. he knows i'm inherently incapable of writing anything fewer than a hundred words — 
> 
>  
> 
> _four hundred and eighty-eight is friggin' short, okay._

A handful of nights, and he's lost count. 

He'd started with the curve of a slender shoulder — the left one, because he always sleeps on his right side, tucked in close against Gladio's own, ear pressed just above the point at which his heart beats behind his ribs — the calloused pads of his fingertips grazing over the surface of pale skin, counting in clusters of twos and threes until that small body began to stir with the beginnings of consciousness. Until the smallest movement would bring the settle of hazy blue eyes upward, the hint of a smile would curve the soft line of his mouth, and he'd forget where he stopped in favor of pulling him in closer. Kissing the edge of that smile just for the sake of being able to do as much, quiet murmurs of " _mornin'_ " and responses of " _mhm_ " lost to the still air. 

It doesn't matter, anyway. He starts over again, every morning, the hour that spans from the moment he wakes up himself to the one in which Prompto begins to stir, giving over those soft, still-sleepy snuffling noises against his chest as he fights the need for wakefulness, and Gladio doesn't think he's ever been so enamored with anything in the whole of his life. 

( There isn't a bit of him that isn't soft, even for all he's comprised of the edges of elbows and knees, the curve of ribs that stand out a bit too drastically when he stretches. There isn't a bit of him that he hasn't committed to memory, a patch of skin he hasn't set his lips against or marked with his teeth — even as he favors the space between his shoulder blades, the dip between the protrusions of bone, the subtle notches of vertebrae.  


There isn't a bit of him that isn't cherished, held close and tucked away in some secret part of himself that nothing else can touch, something that belongs to both of them and no one else, a place that exists between the known and unknown, the real and unreal. The one thing he's _sure_ of. ) 

He'd made it into triple digits, this time. Before the first peek of sunlight made its way through the slats in the blinds covering the windows. Before that lean body nestled against his own began to stir, moves _just enough_ to have the ends of his hair tickling beneath the older's chin, and he curls in just enough to nose at his temple, draw him up into one of those sleepy kisses. His heart stutters, shivers behind his ribs when those lips meet his, as one of his hands traces over that familiar line between his shoulders, counting over the notches of bone in much the same way he had all those tiny spots, and he thinks — 

_Sun ain't got nothin' on you_.

He'll start again tomorrow. From zero, and see how far it gets him.


End file.
